


Willing Stitches

by Onehelluvapilot



Series: Tumblr prompt fics [53]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt Aramis | René d'Herblay, Hurt/Comfort, Stitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:22:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28318935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onehelluvapilot/pseuds/Onehelluvapilot
Summary: Aramis, knowing that Porthos hates administering stitches, tries to patch himself up instead of asking for help.
Relationships: Aramis | René d'Herblay & Porthos du Vallon
Series: Tumblr prompt fics [53]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922554
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	Willing Stitches

"Porthos, do you think you could go gather some firewood while I set up the camp?" Aramis asked as he dismounted heavily from his horse. The musketeer frowned at that before reluctantly nodding. Normally they would do both things together, set up the camp first and then go gather wood, especially when they were enemy territory. There was still the possibility that more men would attack them, trying to get the letters that they carried, even though they'd killed the last five. But it made sense that Aramis would want to stay close and set up the camp rather than wandering around the woods looking for logs, given that he looked exhausted. Which wasn't surprising given that he'd been up against three men at once. Porthos would gladly gather all the firewood if it meant he could give his friend a bit of a rest.

He returned to the sight of Aramis distinctly  _ not _ resting. Instead, the medic was stitching closed a wound on his own arm, sleeve rolled up past his left bicep. His right hand was shaking, and the stitches were turning out ragged. He stabbed himself in the shoulder by accident, biting his lip to keep from crying out, before going to try again. Porthos stepped in before that could happen.

"What the hell?" He demanded. His rough voice was contrasted by the gentleness with which he knelt down beside Aramis and closed one of his large hands around his smaller shaking one, careful not to stab himself with the needle in the process. "Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?" His eyes took in the open medical bag laid out on the bedroll. None of the rest of the camp was set up, meaning that he must've intended to finish stitching his arm before beginning to set it all up before Porthos returned.

"I know you don't like stitches," Aramis explained. His voice was steady but the fact that he was looking down at their clasped hands and refusing to look his friend in the eye showed that he knew he was aware that what he was doing was wrong.

"I like you being hurt even less," he countered. "I'm perfectly willing to help with a couple of stitches if he means you don't hurt yourself more trying to do it yourself."

"I'm fine. My hands are shaking less than yours would be."

"Maybe, maybe not. But at least I have two hands to work with." Aramis had his left hand wedged between his thigh and calf as he knelt, presumably to help himself hold his arm still as he instinctively flinched away from every prick of the needle. "Did you at least take something for the pain?"

"No. Couldn't afford to be clumsy."

"Damnit, Aramis, there's no reason for you to be in so much pain!" Porthos growled. "Here, give me the needle, and you drink some of those spirits you keep in your medical kit."

The marksman shook his head. "You'll need those to pour over the wound once you're done."

"Then drink a little wine. It won't help much, but it might at least take the edge off a little." He passed the wine skin over, and thankfully, Aramis took a gulp before releasing his grip on the needle and letting Porthos finish the stitches for the sword slash across his bicep. He felt a little nauseous each time he had to tug the string taught and saw it pulling on his friend's skin, but it was a lot better than he felt when he thought about him bleeding to death because he wouldn't ask for or allow help.


End file.
